


Like Songbirds Begging to be Strangled

by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Gags, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-22 10:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22947835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: Jaskier is loud, and taverns have thin walls. There's only one logical solution.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 66
Kudos: 1352





	Like Songbirds Begging to be Strangled

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by this prompt found on the Witcher kinkmeme: "My needs are simple. I just want them to have sex while Jaskier is gagged."

Despite what he often said, Geralt did not dislike Jaskier’s voice. Far from it. Although Jaskier’s inability to shut up had gotten them in trouble more times than Geralt could count, on the (increasingly rare) instances where Jaskier wasn’t with him, he now found the silence to be too… broad, too empty, all-encompassing. It was no longer the peace that he had once craved. Instead, peace was found in the emotive, dramatic voice of Jaskier, who honestly didn’t even care too much whether Geralt was listening or not (most of the time)—he just liked to speak all of his thoughts aloud, and Geralt liked to listen to his voice.

And his singing was… well. Yes. It wasn’t the sort of singing voice that one would expect Jaskier to have, listening to him talk, and yet at the same time it fit him perfectly. And he had _fun_ with his singing. Jaskier’s heart was in his songs, and he had fun with them, coming up with little embellishments and playing around with the notes. Certain things he’d said while cranky and working on days with no sleep aside, he did like Jaskier’s singing voice.

Not that he would ever verbally admit to it.

But despite all of his protests, yes, he liked Jaskier’s voice. Especially when he had Jaskier in bed (or on a bedroll, or up against a wall, or a tree, or…) and Jaskier was begging and sobbing for him, his rich voice running up and down the scale, cracking and breaking beautifully with his desire.

However. Sometimes what he liked even better was making Jaskier be quiet.

It was difficult, after all, to have sex when you were in a small room at a tavern with nothing but very thin walls between you and the other guests. Geralt had no interest in getting kicked out of a comfortable room just because they’d been a bit loud while they were having sex.

Or, more accurately, because Jaskier was extremely loud while they were having sex.

And a few times, it had been… it had done something to both of them when Geralt would place his hand over Jaskier’s mouth while fucking him. The muffled cries, Jaskier struggling to make noise and yet unable to, the control over even his begging… it had made Geralt come fast and hard, left him hot and shivering. Jaskier, the first time Geralt had done it, clapping a hand over his mouth and squeezing slightly in warning, had come instantly.

Geralt had then proceeded to worry that he’d been too rough with him, and they’d had to have a talk, but the point was: Geralt liked gagging Jaskier, and Jaskier liked being gagged. And personally, Geralt liked it a good sight better than choking Jaskier—it was something that Jaskier loved, something that was sure to make him come near-instantly, but Geralt was still too wary of it to do it often. He’d kill himself if he hurt Jaskier while they were being intimate. The very thought of it made something in him curl up and whimper in pain like a wounded animal.

Despite how much he and Jaskier both seemed to like it, however, it hadn’t occurred to him to do anything further with it until a few days ago when Jaskier wouldn’t stop running his mouth and landing himself into hot water, and Geralt said, “I should make you wear a bit like Roach,” and Jaskier shot back, “Maybe you should.”

And now here they were.

Geralt straddled Jaskier’s hips, running his hands up and down Jaskier’s sides. “You all good?” he asked, his thumbs rubbing slow circles.

Jaskier nodded, his blue eyes bright, his pupils already blown wide, and Geralt’s cock twitched with interest. Jaskier looked so… _pretty_ like this. His hands were bound above his head by a pretty blue silk tie that they’d gotten from a brothel, a similar tie wrapped around his jaw, over his mouth, sealing that plump mouth shut. He was already shaking with desire, and had been from the moment that Geralt had secured the gag on him. The hand ties were simply so that Jaskier wouldn’t instinctively yank the gag off in the process, since Jaskier was the definition of restless, including during sex.

Geralt hummed, moving his hands up, pinching Jaskier’s nipple with one before moving the other up to lightly stroke at Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier groaned, tilting his head back to expose more of it, his eyelids fluttering. The sound was not only muffled, but strangled a bit in the back of his throat, since the gag made it harder to swallow. Already the gag was becoming a bit wet from Jaskier’s tongue and drool leaking out, and _fuck_ that made Geralt’s cock swell.

He reached up higher, sliding his thumb along the edge of the gag, and Jaskier moaned again, arching his hips up, rolling them against Geralt. He made a noise, one that sounded almost like a word, almost like _please_ but not quite, and Geralt would’ve felt ashamed for the heat shuddering through him if Jaskier wasn’t flushed all over and squirming in that telltale way of his that showed how turned on he was.

Gods, did Jaskier even realize what he looked like, like this? Did he know how good he looked, how hot he made Geralt’s blood run? Jaskier was never lacking for confidence, it seemed, and yet there were times when Geralt felt like Jaskier was still surprised that Geralt was attracted to him, still surprised that Geralt wanted him, which made no sense to Geralt. Who wouldn’t want Jaskier? Everyone wanted him. Why Jaskier was with Geralt, now _that_ was the question.

Geralt looked his fill, looked until Jaskier started protesting behind the gag, making desperate, quiet little noises that might have been words if they hadn’t been muffled and stifled. “Shh,” Geralt coaxed. He was going to take his time with this.

He bent down, licking at Jaskier’s collarbone, tasting the sweat and the musk, the hint of sweetgrass and camomile. He tried not to leave bruises where others could see, because there were still those who didn’t take kindly to the idea of someone being the lover of a Witcher and had some rather harsh terms and jokes for Jaskier—Geralt’d had to break a few jaws now and again—and he didn’t want to encourage more of those assholes. But anything below the collar was fair game, and he wanted to see the marks of his mouth all over Jaskier’s pale skin.

Jaskier whined and moaned gorgeously as Geralt made his way down his body, the noises stifled, and it sent such a fucking thrill through Geralt that his hips were thrusting shallowly against the bed, struggling not to do more, struggling to keep his control. He was going to fuck Jaskier properly before the night was over.

When he fit his mouth over the leaking head of Jaskier’s cock, working his tongue under the foreskin, Jaskier nearly arched up off the bed, a long, low noise struggling to escape from him. Several tiny, frantic noises shoved themselves against the gag, and if Geralt had to guess, he’d say they were something along the lines of _please, please, Geralt, please,_ but it really was a shame that he couldn’t know for certain, wasn’t it?

Smirking, Geralt lowered his mouth all the way down Jaskier’s cock, and Jaskier gave what would’ve ordinarily been a fantastic shout had his mouth been free and open. Geralt’s lack of a gag reflex was something that alternately annoyed and delighted Jaskier to no end, the former because Jaskier was a competitive little fucker who prided himself on his sexual prowess, and the latter for, well, obvious reasons. Geralt kept his throat loose and worked Jaskier quickly, wanting to get him to come, get him nice and loose for Geralt to fuck him. He was so sweet, post orgasm, sweet and over stimulated, begging with tears in the corners of his eyes, absolutely wrecked. There was almost nothing that Geralt liked better.

Jaskier’s begging was undoubtedly fantastic, or would’ve been, if Geralt could’ve understood it. He could hear it, thanks to Witcher senses, but he could guarantee that none of their neighbors could—which had been the point, luckily. Something dark and hungry swelled up in the hollow of his chest, pleased and growling at the idea that Jaskier’s pleas were for Geralt and Geralt alone. Nobody else could hear him as the bard fell to pieces, sobbing for Geralt behind his gag. It was only for Geralt.

Geralt sank all the way down, his nose buried in the dark curling hair at the base of Jaskier’s cock, and swallowed hard, twice. The desperate sob that Jaskier gave, the violent jerk of his body as he came, the sharp smell of him, the _taste_ of him spilling down Geralt’s throat—Geralt drank it all up like the finest ale. All of his senses were filled, all of them pleased, the wolf in his chest purring with satisfaction.

He pulled off, licking off his lips, and looked up just in time to see Jaskier’s gaze track the motion of his tongue. Jaskier groaned, yanking at his restraints, legs still twitching. Geralt grinned, knowing it made him look savage, and rummaged around for the oil.

Geralt slid two slicked-up fingers inside Jaskier, contemplating the bard, his chest and stomach now littered with purple spots from Geralt’s greedy, sucking mouth, his hands bound above his head, looped around one of the bed’s corner posts. Jaskier took the two fingers easily, greedily, and Geralt couldn’t stop a purr of satisfaction from leaking out as he watched them disappear into the bard’s entrance. After so long together, Jaskier’s body was used to him—and more than that, Jaskier liked being filled, liked being fucked to the point where it was just a bit too much, and Geralt felt a terrible pleasure at taking Jaskier right up to that limit, dancing along the edge of it, without letting him fall off the deep end of it.

He reached up, pushing Jaskier’s hair back out of his face. Jaskier pushed up into the touch, making pleased noises, always so desperate for affection. Geralt slid his hand down to cup the bard’s face, his thumb stroking along his cheekbone, and Jaskier turned his face towards Geralt’s palm, the spot where he would’ve kissed if he could. He added a third finger and Jaskier pressed into Geralt’s hand harder, keening, the sound thin and reedy and going straight to Geralt’s cock. Fuck, he was hard enough that Jaskier’s jokes about steel swords and Geralt’s “other blade” were probably justified. He curled his fingers, stroking that particular spot that made Jaskier wild, and tears gathered at the corners of Jaskier’s eyes, drool leaking out from under the gag, more of those gorgeous noises squirming on the root of his tongue.

With reluctance, since the noises Jaskier was making were really too delicious, Geralt slid his hand out of the perfect clench of the bard’s body and reached up, undoing the silk tying Jaskier’s hands together. Jaskier made a noise of surprise—until Geralt hauled him up and re-tied Jaskier’s hands together in front of him, before looping his arms over Geralt’s neck.

Jskier made another noise, this one of pleased realization. Geralt pressed their foreheads together as he took Jaskier’s hips in his hands to guide him onto Geralt’s eager cock.

Truth be told, he preferred Jaskier in his lap. That was his favorite position. It enabled him to see Jaskier’s face, but it also got him as deep in Jaskier as it was physically possible for him to be, and Jaskier might be trim but he had rather strong legs from running after Geralt all the time and the way he moved up and down on Geralt’s cock, his thighs clenching and stomach flexing…

He lowered Jaskier down carefully and Jaskier sobbed, struggling in Geralt’s hold, trying to shove himself down faster. Geralt was certain that Jaskier would’ve torn something by now if it had been up to Jaskier’s preferences. Witchers were mutated, and that meant… it meant that they had to be careful with their lovers. Jaskier might be greedy but Geralt wasn’t going to let that lead to injury.

It still took everything in him not to thrust up into Jaskier instantly as his cock was slowly buried in all of that slick, delicious heat. Jaskier was always so tight, so warm and welcoming, and Geralt felt like he could feel the very heart of him, press up against the pulse of him, like this. Jaskier tried speaking again, the words garbled and muffled, unintelligible, and Geralt smirked, flexing his fingers around the bard’s waist.

“You wanted something?”

Jaskier gave a rather impressive glare, despite the gag, and clenched deliberately around Geralt. Another string of muffled noises poured out of him.

“Sorry,” Geralt said, grinning shamelessly. “Can’t hear you.”

Jaskier gave a shout of frustration. Geralt chuckled, and tightened his hold. He could see that Jaskier wasn’t quite hard again yet—but he would get him there.

He thrust up hard into him and Jaskier let out a grunt of pleasure, then another as Geralt thrust again, until he was making absolutely filthy noises, the gag soaked with his saliva and clinging to his skin. Geralt was able to hold him in place, or alternately move Jaskier up and down as he pleased, and Jaskier couldn’t get any leverage like this, not with his hands tied, and he made his frustration and desperation quite clear even through the gag. His struggle to try and use words, and his inability to make that happen, set Geralt’s chest ablaze, made him drunk on those noises, and he knew it wasn’t going to be long before he lost control completely.

“Go on then, if you want it so badly,” he growled, releasing Jaskier’s hips and sliding his hands around to Jaskier’s back.

Jaskier didn’t need to be told twice. His forehead dropped down to Geralt’s shoulder and he planted his knees on the bed, fucking himself down again and again onto Geralt’s cock. He was completely hard now, his cock smearing against Geralt’s stomach as he moved, and he was making the sweetest, most addicting noises through the gag, clearly begging even though Geralt couldn’t make out the words. Geralt dug his nails into Jaskier’s back, introducing that little bit of pain that made Jaskier arch his back and cry out, exposing his throat to Geralt’s teeth and tongue. _Fuck_ yes, the smell of him, the sound of him, was so good…

Jaskier’s begging was obvious now, since there was only one word that would cause him to make that particular ‘ee’ noise as he fucked Geralt frantically. _Please, please, please._ Geralt grinned against the delicate column of Jaskier’s neck, where he knew Jaskier could feel it, and tugged on a handful of the bard’s hair, yanking his face down to press their foreheads together. Jaskier’s eyes were wide and frantic, the gag shifting against his lips and tongue as he let out a stream of curses, praises, and hopeless sounds, all of them trapped behind the thick piece of fabric.

“You want to come again, you’ll come just like this,” Geralt ordered. He wasn’t going to touch Jaskier’s cock. It would be this or nothing.

Jaskier’s eyes slammed closed and he let out a half moan, half whine, one that trailed off into a deliciously high and reedy noise. He increased his pace and Geralt let him, struggling to contain himself. For all of his shit talking, he didn’t want to come before Jaskier. He wanted to make sure that Jaskier got his pleasure.

He slid his hand down, between Jaskier’s arse cheeks, and ghosted his finger along the rim, felt where his cock was sliding in and out. It was barely even a tease, but that did it—Jaskier sobbed, and Geralt smelled the salt-sting of tears, and Jaskier painted both of their stomachs with his spend.

He was completely loose and pliant now, and the moans he made as Geralt fucked up into him had Geralt biting on Jaskier’s shoulder to muffle his own growl of satisfaction. Jaskier might as well have been a rag doll for how limp he was, and Geralt had used to hate how much he liked that, until Jaskier had promised him (many, many times) that he liked it, too. Loved it, even.

The pleased, overwhelmed noises that Jaskier was making, the way the gag distorted and muffled them, were too much, and Geralt came, holding onto Jaskier so tightly that he knew he’d be seeing little finger-pad shaped bruises on Jaskier’s body come tomorrow.

Jaskier was going to be insanely smug about those.

When the white hot buzz of pleasure faded and he could breathe properly again, he reached up, yanking Jaskier’s gag off, and seized the back of Jaskier’s head, shoving him into a kiss. Jaskier made a noise of pure satisfaction and kissed him back with fervor, his lips a bit stiff from the gag, but his tongue firm and greedy.

“ _Thank_ you,” Jaskier whispered, as if Geralt had given him some great gift, rather than muzzled him and fucked him stupid.

Geralt felt a pleased rumble in his chest. “Gotta keep you quiet somehow.”

Jaskier chuckled, nuzzling at Geralt’s jaw. “Ah, but you also like it when I’m not.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Jaskier nipped at his jaw in retaliation, since he knew when Geralt was lying, and Geralt had most definitely been lying right then.

Gagged or free, he liked all of Jaskier’s noises.


End file.
